Night's Mistress (Children of The Night 5)

With a nod, he pushed away from the edge and began to swim with long, even strokes that quickly carried him from one end of the pool to the other, and back again.

He was a delight to watch. He swam effortlessly, his body barely making a ripple as he moved smoothly through the water. Moonlight dappled his long black hair.

After a hundred laps or so, he swam up to her again. “I think it’s been a minute.”

Rising, she undressed, then dove into the pool. He was right. The water felt wonderfully erotic against her bare skin. She shrieked with mock terror when Logan came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms.

She leaned back against him, loving the feel of his body against hers, the sensuous slide of wet skin against wet skin as she turned in his arms to face him.

Excitement stirred deep within her as his hand cupped the back of her head. His kiss, when it came, sent fingers of flame shooting through her. Good thing they were in the pool, she thought, or she might have gone up in smoke.

She ran her hands restlessly over his back and shoulders, groaned softly as her need for him intensified.

Backing up against the side of the pool, he wrapped her legs around his waist and made love to her, there, in the shallow end of the pool, with the crickets singing a serenade and the moon smiling down on them.

She was dreaming. Even in sleep, Mara found the idea astonishing. She had not dreamed since Dendar brought her across, yet she was dreaming now, of people she had known down through the ages, of cities and towns long gone.

As if watching a movie in her mind, she saw herself walking along a dusty boardwalk in some nameless town in the Old West . . .

She smiled inwardly, pleased by the looks the men cast her way as she passed by. She wore a yellow dress with long sleeves and a full skirt over several petticoats. High-button shoes encased her feet; white gloves protected her hands, and she carried a white parasol to shade her from the desert sun. And a hat, of course. A lady never went outside without a hat. This one sat at a jaunty angle; colorful streamers trailed down her back.

She winked at a cowboy as she strolled by, grinned as he quickly removed his hat. She loved the cowboys. They treated her as if she were made of spun glass even though she worked in a saloon. It was the perfect place to find prey. Starved for female attention, men practically fell at her feet if she so much as looked at them. It was all too easy to take them upstairs where, instead of satisfying their lust, she satisfied her hunger, then sent them on their way, none the wiser about what had really happened.

It was an amazingly realistic dream. She could feel the sun’s heat on her back, smell the dun-colored dust that choked the air, hear the out-of-tune notes of a distant piano.

At the end of the street, she entered the Calico Saloon. It was her favorite haunt. She smiled at Ed Rogen as he shambled toward her.

“Mara.” He embraced her. “Remember, you promised me the whole night.”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “Why, Ed, how could I forget? My room, nine o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.”

The scene changed quickly, as dreams were wont to do, and she was in San Francisco, strolling along the waterfront in the dark of night, searching for prey, mesmerizing a young prostitute, taking the life of some thug who tried to steal the girl away from her.

She was bending over the girl, savoring the thick, rich taste of her blood, when, abruptly, the scene changed again and now she was back in Egypt with Logan soon after she had brought him across. Such a glorious time, when he had been a new vampire. They had spent his every waking moment together as she helped him adjust to his new life. They had spent hours in each other’s arms, two supernatural creatures who never grew weary. Not surprisingly, he had reveled in his newfound ability to make love all night long. He had been an incredible lover, young, tender, eager to please her . . .

Mara woke, her desire unfulfilled, her body bathed in perspiration. Damn, why couldn’t she have slept for another few minutes? It had been such a wonderful dream, so real she could almost feel Logan’s hands on her flesh, his breath hot on her skin, his tongue laving her breasts. Filled with yearning, she sat up and reached for her robe. She didn’t have to settle for dreams, not when Logan was just down the hall.

She frowned, the robe in her hand forgotten. Was it Logan she wanted, or Kyle? She had thought herself in love with Kyle, so why was she dreaming of Logan? Of course, she couldn’t control her dreams, but she was awake now, so why was it still Logan that her body burned for? Maybe indecision was a part of being mortal.

Confused, she fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could recapture her dream . . .

She woke in the morning to discover that, while she’d slept, Logan had painted the bedroom. How had he managed it without waking her, she wondered, and then shrugged. He was a vampire. He wouldn’t need a light to see by, and with his preternatural speed, it wouldn’t have taken him more than a few minutes to paint the whole room.

Sitting up, she glanced around. The room, once pale gray, was now a lovely shade of sage green with sparkling white trim. Logan’s black bedspread was gone, replaced by a luxurious satin quilt that was green on one side and white on the other. New drapes hung at the window. A beautiful, old-fashioned, full-length mirror stood in one corner of the room, a note taped to the top.

Rising, she unfolded the sheet of paper and read the message scrawled in Logan’s bold hand: So you can see how beautiful you are.

Staring at her reflection, she wondered if it was possible to be in love with two men at the same time, and what she would do if she couldn’t make up her mind.

Chapter Eleven

Lou McDonald sat at her desk, quickly scanning through her e-mail. Since putting out the word that she was offering a reward for information on Mara, her inbox had been flooded with mail. It seemed every contact she had from Alaska to Mexico and in between had seen the Queen of the Vampires. Unfortunately, none of the leads had panned out.

Lou leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she read an e-mail from her sister in Nevada. She read it again, and yet again, and then, shaking her head, she leaned back in her chair.

“Very funny, Cindy,” she muttered as she typed her response. Mara, pregnant in Northern Nevada. That was very funny indeed. But then, Cindy had always had a twisted sense of humor. They had been partners in the vampire hunting business since a vampire had killed their younger brother eleven years ago. Cindy didn’t have the stomach for staking hearts or taking heads, but she was aces at undercover work and ferreting out the lairs of the Undead. Working for Ramsden gave her access to his records and other valuable information. It was the only reason he was still alive.